


Sherlock vs. cling film

by scribble55178



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-29
Updated: 2011-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribble55178/pseuds/scribble55178
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Note: cling film is the name for plastic wrap in the UK</p>
<p>Sherlock can't get cling film to work to save his life. It sticks to itself, it sticks to him, it rips into completely unhelpful shapes, it doesn't rip at all, and it never, ever sticks to the container he's trying to cover. EVER. John finds this hilarious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock vs. cling film

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted for this [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/8651.html?thread=40579531#t40579531).

 

 

“John, I’m done with these intestines.”  
  
John was quite comfy in his chair, with his hot cup of tea and engrossing novel, so he didn’t bother looking up to answer. “I’ll just alert the media then.”  
  
Sherlock glared at the back of John’s head then stared down at the huge ceramic bowl filled with human intestines which were now stewing in a horrid green concoction. He picked up a petrie dish and pipette and tried to look like he was still busy. “They need to be covered for this to work.”  
  
John hummed to himself absently then turned in his seat slightly to look towards the kitchen. He spotted the bowl on the table and his eyes darted back and forth between it and Sherlock a few times before the reason for Sherlock’s statement dawned on him. He relaxed back into his chair, pretending to read while he fought to hide a smirk. “Well I guess you better cover them then.”  
  
Sherlock froze, then spat out a silent curse and quickly dropped both the petrie dish and pipette as his arms stiffened with tension. He grabbed the edge of the kitchen table with both hands and hung his head down to his chest for a second or two, his eyes closed, muttering to himself.  
  
John almost snorted when he heard Sherlock let out a resigned sigh and shuffle haltingly towards the kitchen cabinets like a man going to his execution. John heard the opening and closing of a drawer, punctuated by another miserable exhale from Sherlock. He heard the long, elastic pull of the cling film as it unspooled from the roll. Then there was a pause before he heard Sherlock draw in a steadying breath, followed by the sound of the film stretching across the serrated cutting blade built into the packaging. Sherlock’s muffled swearing was all that was needed for John to know that the film didn’t actually cut. He smiled wickedly to himself.  
  
John heard the package being crushed in Sherlock’s death grip and eventually the sound of a piece of film tearing free from the box. He imagined the edge of it was jagged and stretched beyond use. He deciphered the sound of the box being tossed blindly into the kitchen sink.  
  
Having seen Sherlock do battle with cling film on many occasions, John found that he could easily deduce what was happening with every new aural clue: Sherlock struggling to get a useful grip on the film as it fluttered every which way on any slight air current flowing past it. Sherlock attempting to lay the film over the top of the bowl only to have it curl up onto itself on the sides, rendering the piece half the width that it was supposed to be. Sherlock plucking at the areas where the film had bunched up and stuck together, his long fingers working in vain to ply the layers free and restore the piece to its full size. And peppered through all of it was a mix of huffs and oaths. More than once John almost choked on his tea.  
  
John heard it all but he was waiting. Waiting. Waiting. And finally...  
  
“John...”  
  
“Yes, Sherlock?”  
  
“I require your assistance.”  
  
“ _Do_ you?” John knew he was pushing it.  
  
A loud, aggravated half-sigh, half-growl emanated from the kitchen. Yep. Pushed it too far.  
  
“John, I _need_ an assistant! So assist me!”  
  
John managed to wipe the grin off his face as he sat down his book and tea before entering the kitchen. Once he got there he saw pretty much what he expected to see, which was a large bowl filled with gore, a third of it covered in a a twisted up sheet of cling film.  
  
With surgeon’s hands John deftly coaxed the sheet apart until it was its rightful shape. Grasping both ends of it he pulled it slightly and stretched it gently across the middle of the bowl until it caught on the lip of each side, then worked around the remainder of the bowl, pulling the film just enough to cause it to hold fast before stretching and smoothing it down the sides. In short order the film formed a tight seal separating the biohazard from the rest of the world.  
  
Even though John had performed this magic trick successfully countless times, Sherlock still didn’t look impressed. John knew he was.  
  
But Sherlock just gave a little shrug and sauntered over to the refrigerator. He peered into it, appraising the space left available inside, before addressing John in a coldly nonchalant manner, “That bowl will never fit in here. You’ll need to clean this out to make room first.”  
  
John stared back at him, annoyance deeply furrowed into the doctor’s brow. Before Sherlock could protest John reached down, peeled the neatly applied cling film off of the bowl, wadded it up into a tight ball and placed it ceremoniously onto the table. He then turned and went back to his chair, book, and tea, leaving a gaping consulting detective in his wake.  
  
It was only when John was settled again that he allowed himself to smile. He was waiting. Waiting. Waiting.  
  
"John..."

 

 

 


End file.
